


Green, Green I can tell that she must hate me (Green face, Is it jealousy or envy?)

by tobiyos



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Drunk Sex, Jealousy, M/M, Pining, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unrequited Love, jumin and his self destructive tendencies the fic, well its not quite sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:34:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27798550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tobiyos/pseuds/tobiyos
Summary: V has always been his exception—Jumin doesn’t have friends except for V, Jumin doesn’t listen to anyone except for V.Jumin does not fall in love. Jumin is in love with V.
Relationships: Han Jumin/V | Kim Jihyun
Comments: 4
Kudos: 38





	Green, Green I can tell that she must hate me (Green face, Is it jealousy or envy?)

**Author's Note:**

> WH. OOPS. 
> 
> The other week I started replaying mysme on an impulse because I missed Jumin's route and got reminded that Jumin and V are childhood friends and I just. blacked out and somehow this fic got written. Jumin is so respectful to Rika in game and it seems like he only does that because he cares for V a lot and it got me thinkin... got Bunny's brain churnin away... 
> 
> Oh! Also the title is from [GREENGREENGREEN](https://open.spotify.com/track/1ENRzsvaOA4iTw1ZUCRIW6) by Chase Atlantic. It's not a huge JuminV song but I thought the line fit :]

Jumin Han doesn’t go to parties.

It’s one of the rules of the universe, like how cats are better than dogs and monetary success won’t make you happy. Even when Jumin is in college and bored out of his mind, he doesn’t go to parties. V invites him anyway.

This is another unspoken rule, another thing Jumin has promised he’d never indulge in that V has pulled from him neatly and without effort. V has always been an exception; Jumin doesn’t have friends except for V, Jumin doesn’t listen to anyone but V.

Jumin does not fall in love. Jumin is in love with V.

Jumin doesn’t go to parties, but he’s a weak, weak man, and V is the one string the universe knows how to pluck, so he drags himself out of his apartment and braces himself for a night of pointless socializing.

It’s a rather small affair, Jumin thinks, even though he’s never been to a gathering like this before and has no metric to measure against. He steps through the door of somebody’s parent’s gigantic house and smells sharp alcohol and too much perfume, music nearly rattling the floor from where it’s pouring out of a second story balcony.

He wonders why he’s even there until mint hair peeks through the groups of people Jumin pushes through without trying to actually _touch_ anyone, and it’s like the sun parting for the clouds, like a first breath of air after a forest fire.

V loves him, Jumin knows. Not the same way Jumin loves him—there’s no one out there who feels for anyone the way Jumin loves V—but in his own way, caring and reserved and _wholly_ platonic. Jumin loves painfully, like binary stars crashing into each other. V looks at him and sees family or something close to it, and it takes everything Jumin has to ignore how that makes hurt curl in his chest tight enough to burn.

But V catches his eye from across the room and his face lights up like it’s Christmas, and for one, blissful second, Jumin can pretend that they feel the same dramatic pull, that V’s eyes spell devotion instead of a simmering fondness.

Even when golden hair breaks through the crowd just behind him, Jumin is caught by V’s blinding smile.

“Jumin!” V shouts, his voice carrying over the roar of music pounding through Jumin’s throbbing head. He can’t tell if it’s compensation for the low light and lack of visibility that makes him want to shout back, or the way Rika looks when he catches her eyes, gaze dripping with gentle sympathy.

Jumin hates her pity. Jumin does not hate Rika.

And really, how could he? As much as he loves V he can’t possibly think so lowly of the person he chooses over Jumin time and time again. She’s his opposite in every way, bright and expressive where Jumin is brooding and passive. She’s a beacon of light and friendliness in every space she walks in to and Jumin had to watch V fall head over heel for her their second year, locked in a cage of his own inexpression.

V is flushed, like he’s been dancing, and Jumin feels persistence tug a smile up his lips, just because he’s sore to have missed _that_. “I’m so glad you came!” he says brightly, pulling Jumin into a brief and gentle hug. V smells nice, warm and safe and comfortable, and Jumin leans away when he’s supposed to, burying the disappointment that comes from the comfort of being in his arms.

“Jihyun said tonight felt different,” Rika giggles, and Jumin flashes her his polite buisness smile.

“V is really the only person who could pull me out like this,” he says gently, taking in Rika’s round face and pretty eyes. She’s so small, just at V’s shoulders, and Jumin wonders if things would be easier if he had fallen for Rika instead. Her eyes are a nice green. Jumin prefers blue.

V laughs. “Still, you never take me up on the invitation. This is good! You should have more fun.” Yes, Jumin prefers blue, the kind sparkle of V’s eyes as he reaches forward and takes one of Jumin’s hands. His skin is as icy as it usual is, but Jumin doesn’t mind, just lets himself be pulled forward as V babbles about some project or another, or some friend, or some exploit. He could listen to V talk for hours.

V pulls him over to the group he was speaking to before and introduces him with a smile. Jumin is polite, but he mostly wants to watch V’s face as he tells stories, as he listens quietly to the other students. He couldn’t say what any of the other people surrounding them look like. V is blinding, like a bright light in a dark room.

Once or twice, he catches Rika’s eye as well. She shoots him a smile that grates on Jumin’s nerves because it’s small and _knowing_ , like Rika can see herself in Jumin’s endearments, like what she has could come even remotely close to his adoration of V.

 _You don’t know me_ , Jumin thinks, swallowing around a dry throat. _You don’t know how I feel._

“Excuse me,” Jumin says, cutting V off in the middle of an anecdote. He gets a concerned look thrown his way for the trouble, V’s eyebrows pressing together. “I’m going to walk around a bit. I’ll be back.”

V reaches out to squeeze Jumin’s shoulder with a smile. “Of course, Jumin. Sorry to hold you for too long.” The touch burns like ice. Jumin tries to make himself disappear.

He’s never been to a party before without the pretense of buisness and connections and whatever other bullshit his father manages to convince Jumin is worth his time. If he were on C&R’s time right now, he’d be chatting up some CEO, or keeping contact with a familiar company, or giving a speech to blurry faces over the lip of a podium.

As is, he just wanders around the house, moving in and out of crowds and nodding at the few people who recognize him, fending off advances from young women who take one look at his tailored clothes and move like they can _smell_ the money on him.

He’s suffocating in the humid air of a few dozen college students, so he wanders into the kitchen for something to drink. Someone hands him a cup full of something too bitter to be nonalcoholic, but Jumin can’t much bring himself to care, not when Rika’s placating smile is hiding behind his eyelids. He tips a cup back into his mouth and tries to forget V’s name.

It works for a while. Long enough for Jumin to talk to a few people, to let some woman latch onto his arm and then well enough that he doesn’t even try to shake her off. He drinks out of a cup and then switches to a bottle and ends on a can, crushes it in some idiot’s trashcan and says something under his breath that makes the woman on his arm laugh. The room is swimming pleasantly, the blood rushing through his veins warm.

 _God,_ is _this_ what he’s like when he’s drunk? He’s developed a hobby in wine tasting since he passed the legal drinking age, but pleasantly tipsy and falling headfirst into inebriated are two completely different things. He’s caught himself mid stumble against a wall _twice_ in the past hour.

He feels like a comet, or maybe a god, and the woman chatting his ear off makes a noise of frustration when she realizes he hasn’t heard a word she’s said.

“Where’s V?” he asks her, before she can go off on him about another useless tangent. The music is a bit quieter now, having slowed as the night has gone on, but it’s still loud enough that Jumin feels like it’s banging against his heart.

“Who?” she says, confused. Jumin looks at her, probably for the first time since they even met, and notices that her eyes are a nice brown color, safe enough that he doesn’t feel like he’s drowning. He wonders if he’ll be scarred for life now when he thinks of _green, green, green._

“V,” he slurs. “Where is—” He’s hit with wave of nausea that’s like being body slammed, the woman’s eyes going wide with alarm when he pitches towards her. Her eyes look different in the light. And… was she always blonde? Why is it that all Jumin can think about is Rika and her _green fucking eyes—_

“Get off of me,” he grunts, when the woman braces an arm against his to keep them both upright. It’s a silly thing to ask, considering he’s seconds away from falling on his face. “…please,” he adds, even though he feels like he’s drowning.

She lets go of him and Jumin stumbles across the room, moving towards a glass door he can see opens onto a patio, overlooking the cliff the expensive house is perched on. He wants to vomit, he wants to pull his hair out, he wants to be _green_ just like _her_ —

“Jumin?”

Oh. It’s V, pressed against the railing overlooking the cliff, a still lit cigarette hanging from his fingers over the edge. Jumin thinks he might still be hyperventilating, but the cold air is a welcome burn in his too hot chest, and he shuts the door and dampens the sound of the overwhelming music with shaking hands.

“V,” he breathes, pushing a hand through his hair and stumbling up to the railing. His limbs still feel warm and sluggish but he’s _heavy_ and Jumin needs a minute to sit down and try to remember which way is up again.

V drops his arm over the railing, his cigarette flaking off onto the ground too far below. Jumin slides close enough that their shoulders could touch, if they wanted. Jumin wants. Jumin wants so badly it hurts.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” he says, instead of _Would you ever look at me the way I look at you_?

“I didn’t know you cared,” V responds, a little smile on his lips.

Jumin turns his face to look over the railing, at the city that stretches out below. He says, too softly, “I always care, with you.”

V nudges his shoulder, and Jumin thinks he’s pretending he didn’t hear that. “I saw you with that girl. You looked like you were having fun.”

Did he? He thinks he was very fixated on how waxy her lipstick looked, how he felt a bit sympathetic towards someone who would just be brushed aside for a better looking, more interesting replacement. “I thought she seemed familiar,” he says, instead of _What does Rika have that I don’t?_

V laughs politely, and Jumin wants to hit him. He wants to push him onto the floor of the patio and wrap his hands around his throat and beg that V be more than polite with him for once. That he hits him or kills him or kisses him until neither of them can breathe, until Jumin and V are the only two people left on the planet for them to hold. He wants to climb inside of his best friend’s chest and he wants to live there for the rest of his life. He wants his hands anywhere Rika’s can’t reach because she’s so good for him but she’s _ruined_ him just as much as she’s made him whole, covered him in the gold thread of her hair and the piercing green of her eyes.

“Blonde,” he whispers, before he can catch himself.

V blinks, like he can’t see Jumin perfectly as close as they’re standing. “What?”

“Blonde,” he repeats anyway, even though his brain is saying _Don’t you dare, don’t you dare, Jumin Han._ “I’m thinking of going blonde.”

V takes another drag of his cigarette, and then turns and leans against the railing on his side so he can see at Jumin fully. He looks so good, so perfect in the moonlight and the neon colors spilling over from inside of the house. Jumin wants everything V could possible give him.

“Are you drunk?” V asks.

“That wouldn’t be enough, though,” he keeps rambling, because the way V is looking at him makes him feel pinned to a cork board and _yes_ he’s drunk but he isn’t _stupid_. He’s terrified. “Not for you, not if I—not when she—”

“Jumin,” V says quietly.

Jumin hangs his head over the railing and wipes a hand over his face. He wishes he could cry. He wants to cry. “I didn’t know you smoked,” he whispers, and it feels hysterical, the ramblings of a drunk college student on a too cold night.

He’s supposed to know everything about V, all of his wants and desires and the women he likes—blonde, blonde, it wouldn’t be _enough_ —but instead he finds out drunk, at a party, on a night that’s _too fucking cold_ , that V smokes.

There’s a hand on the back of his neck that’s icy, and Jumin doesn’t move, doesn’t even look up as V pulls him closer, into a crushing one-armed hug. He buries his face in his neck and takes a deep breath that smells like mint and cheap alcohol and the cologne Jumin helped Rika pick out for his birthday and Jumin thinks that if he could, he would cry.

There are fingers on Jumin’s chin that tilts his face up gently, like V is trying to avoid startling a very small creature that’s flighty and nervous but Jumin goes like he always goes, unfaltering and willing, catching the shine of moonlight against V’s light eyelashes. _I love you,_ he thinks desperately, when his eyes fall to the thin swell of V’s lips. _I always will_.

“It wouldn’t be enough,” V says gently, and leans down to kiss him.

Jumin has never kissed anyone before. The only person he’s ever even remotely _thought_ about kissing is V, and he was so sure that V wouldn’t even entertain the idea that he never really dwelled on it.

Jumin has never kissed anyone, but he’d give up lifetimes and fortunes for someone who kisses him the way V does.

It’s slow and intense and tastes like cigarette smoke, V’s lips are plush and intense against him as Jumin kisses back sloppily, unable to reign in on his desire when the blood in his veins feels like molten. His mouth is probably nothing but the uncomfortable bite of cheap alcohol and whatever soda he’d drowned it in, but V presses him against the railing and slips his tongue along Jumin’s like he tastes like candy.

Jumin lifts cautious, shaking hands up to touch just barely at the underside of V’s jaw, swallowing the noise V makes against his tongue, but he is greedy where Rika is not, and he can’t stand knowing that she has had every part of him to herself and yet Jumin is too nervous to put his hands anywhere but the protective barrier of V’s clothes.

He tugs V against him so roughly their teeth clack, arms going around V’s neck so he can pull him closer, until they’re one person. The breathy noise V makes into his mouth makes him dizzier than every drink he’s had combined, and he feels like kissing V is making him drunker, is making him bolder, in the way he slides his hands down to fist in the back of V’s shirt and draw him impossibly closer.

“Please,” Jumin whispers, as V nips at his lip. It’s embarrassing and humiliating but he wants _more_ , he wants to drink V in until they’re the same person, _fuck_ Rika and her claim on his heart.

V knows, though. He _always_ knows exactly what Jumin needs. He puts a hand against Jumin’s throat that makes him gasp and pushes him back further over the railing until their hips knock together, and V _grinds_ against him, slow and intense as Jumin muffles an embarrassing groan against his teeth. He’s hard, he realizes, the way you realize a pot is boiling over. Jumin is burning alive and he’s grateful that it’s V lighting the fire.

His mind is so foggy, his instincts so diluted that he doesn’t even register that he’s grinding back, that V has nudged his nose under Jumin’s jaw to nip at his skin and the hiccupped noises he’s making are going unbidden into the air.

 _“Please_ ,” he says again, when V’s hand travels down his chest to squeeze roughly at his hardening cock, heat gathering tight in Jumin’s stomach at the first gentle graze of V’s teeth on his neck.

“Someone will see,” V says against his skin, but he’s not stopping, still twitching his hips against the side of Jumin’s thigh and stroking tortuously at his cock through his pants.

“I don’t care,” Jumin growls, and threads his hands in V’s hair to yank him up into another blistering kiss. _Let them see_ , he thinks wildly, when V’s tongue is hot and slick in his mouth. _I want it, I want them to know you’re mine, body soul and spirit. You created me and I worship you and Rika will_ never _know you the way I do._

“I want to fuck you,” V says against his mouth, breath coming in short, hot pants. His hand is slipping into Jumin’s underwear, his shirt jostling free from where it was once tucked in. Jumin barely hears him speaking with V’s hand suddenly wrapped hot and warm around his cock, but he still registers the admission, he still shivers so hard he thinks the whole house is shaking.

“I want you to,” Jumin responds, and buries a sound in his hand when V’s hand strokes him messy and hurried in his underwear.

“I can’t,” V whispers into his ear, his hand still tight and maddening over the weeping head of Jumin’s cock. “You know I can’t—”

He feels like he _should_ , but his brain is just _V_ —every name Jumin has ever called him and every look they’ve every shared, the blue of his eyes and the lines of his hand so he can’t understand _why, why, why_ —

“You’re drunk,” V says back, and Jumin could _cry_.

“It’s not just because—i-it isn’t—”

V shushes him and covers his mouth again, and Jumin can feel the pressure coiling tight inside of him building and building until he comes with a groan, his hips twitching into last, minute jerks of V’s hand.

V kisses him through it like a lifeline, his breath hot in Jumin’s mouth. Jumin is breathless, pulling at V’s hips and the waistline of his pants because he _wants_ and V is so close Jumin feels like he’s caught sunlight in his fingers. V catches his hands and kisses him harder, like he’s trying to tell him something, like Jumin can interpret from the slope of his mouth why they can’t disappear for the next few hours burn Rika from either of their memories.

“We can’t,” V says, when he pulls away. Jumin realizes he’s sobered a bit in the cool air, in the heat of V’s hands and his mouth. He can’t hear the music anymore, is just swallowed by his favorite color reflected in V’s eyes. “I have to tell you something.”

Jumin is drunk but he’s not too drunk to avoid the guilty look in V’s eyes, the way his body language is peeling away like he’s trying to go back to a few minutes ago, when they were just two friends on a balcony complaining about the weather. Jumin wants to kiss him, Jumin wants to kill him, Jumin wants everything V wants to give him—

“We’re engaged,” he says quietly.

Oh.

Jumin is sober. Jumin remembers he doesn’t go to parties. Jumin remembers that he is in love with his best friend, and he will never have him, not as long as he is alive.

_We’re engaged._

It’s the nail in the coffin, the epitaph on Jumin’s grave. It’s the blue of V’s eyes, no, it’s the blonde of Rika’s hair, _no_ , it’s the years Jumin learned not to cry and Jumin’s come covered hand against some poor college student’s parent’s balcony, and V is engaged, and Jumin does not go to parties.

“I wanted to tell you,” V continues. “I-in person, it’s why I invited you tonight I never meant for you to… I mean I never wanted…”

“You and Rika,” Jumin says quietly. V nods. “I’m happy for you.”

V pulls him into another crushing hug that burns like ice. Jumin lets himself go, and wonders what time he has to get up for classes on Monday. “You’re a shit liar,” V says into his hair.

 _It wouldn’t be enough_.

They go back to the party and pretend like nothing has happen, because, in actuality, nothing has. Jumin thinks there’s a chance he won’t remember this in the morning, and he’s startled to realize that even if he did, it wouldn’t matter. V is still as unattainable as always; Jumin is still out to dry. Rika is still better than him. Rika will always be better than him.

Jumin remembers why he doesn’t approve of his father’s involvement with women, the way he sneaks around behind their backs and how easily he turned on his mother. Jumin knows he has her blood and so he’s terrified to become her, just another blip in someone’s string of lovers that get tossed up and thrown away for newer and better and shinier. He was terrified to become her, and when Rika spots them and throws her arms around V’s neck with a delighted “There you are!” he realizes he hasn’t.

V holds her hand and meets Jumin’s eye, and Jumin smiles because V could never throw him aside for Rika when she was all he ever wanted anyway. V is better than that. Jumin knew V would be better than that.

 _It wouldn’t be enough_.

Jealously is green, envy is green. Jumin is _green, green, green._

**Author's Note:**

> Weeeeelll 
> 
> This certainly was... an experience to write. I forgot I even wrote it for like... a week after I finished it because I was busy working on other fics and I just kinda. Oops. 
> 
> I don't talk about mysme on there but if you wanna say hi I'm on [twitter](https://twitter.com/tobi_yos)! Have a good day and remember not to fall in love with your best friend


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